


still the scythe

by blackkat



Series: Horoscope Drabbles [10]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, M/M, Plague
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-02 03:18:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17256602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: There's a man in the darkness, pale and cold like the rising moon, and Kagami should be afraid of him.





	still the scythe

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Normal Horoscopes on Tumblr:
> 
> A lavish and ostentatious estate. Empty and bare because the previous occupants couldn’t stomach a little plague. Wimps.

There's a man in the darkness, pale and cold like the rising moon, and Kagami should be afraid of him.

“What happened here?” he manages, and his throat is tight around the words. The estate he remembers as a fairy tale, a paradise—it’s bare and echoing now, stripped and scorched, the gardens left to grow wild.

In the shadows, the man smirks, steps forward. One hand trails along the wall, a light brush, but the darkness seems to follow his fingertips, washing across the stone. “The occupants fled,” he says, perfectly uncaring. “But the house proved suitable for my needs.”

_Thief_ , Kagami almost says, but the word dies stillborn on his tongue. It’s too dangerous to say that, something whispers in the back of his mind, and he believes it. Not right, either; this man isn't after valuables.

“And what needs are those?” he asks, keeps the words even despite wondering if he should be reaching for his sword.

“Growth,” the man says, and his red eyes seem to glow in the darkness. “Propagation.”

Somehow, Kagami gets the feeling he doesn’t mean the gardens outside.

“The plague came through here,” he realizes, and it turns like nausea in his gut. He thinks of Hiruzen, of Koharu, of Danzō; he hasn’t seen them or heard from them since he returned from the frontlines, and he’d thought—

But Hiruzen's estate is perfectly, eerily empty, and there are ashes in the front drive.

“Only a touch of it,” the man says dismissively, and turns away. “They ran before it could grow, but the remnants linger.”

Instinct has Kagami reaching out, grabbing the man’s arm, pulling him to a halt. “ _Who_?” he demands fiercely, because he can't live without knowing, even for the amount of time it will take to ride to the capital. “Who died here? How do you _know_ this?”

There's a moment of perfect stillness, and then the man turns his head. His gaze drags from the hold Kagami has on his arm to settle on Kagami's face, and there's something like sharp interest kindling in his expression. “Three servants,” he says. “And an elderly footman. And I know because I am the plague that took them.”

A death spirit, Kagami thinks, and swallows. A _plague_ spirit, haunting the estate, wandering the halls, leaving his darkness to seep into the walls and linger in the earth. “Why?” he whispers.

The spirit’s eyes are almost gentle, and he catches Kagami's wrist, pulls it away from his elbow. “Because there is a time for all things,” he says. “And sometimes that time is war, and sometimes it comes as plague. There is no difference for the dead.”

Kagami has seen as much. He _knows_ that. But war he can fight. A plague—

“If I challenge you,” he says, meeting sharp red eyes, “will you stop spreading your sickness? Will you leave the kingdom in peace?”

The spirit pauses, considering. “If you win,” he allows, though the curve of a smirk is back on his mouth. “But you know the old laws.”

Kagami does. Defeat means surrender. If the spirit beats him, Kagami will have to serve him for the rest of his days. But the reverse is true as well, and for that, Kagami is willing to risk it.

“Are you sure you want to take that chance?” he asks stubbornly, raises his chin and meets the spirit’s eyes.

The spirit considers him for a long, long moment, and then smiles. “I believe,” he says, raising a hand to trace the curve of Kagami's face, “that you are one of the most interesting things I've encountered in centuries. Perhaps a defeat will prove a novel distraction from my work.”

Kagami can't help the way his breath catches, has to close his eyes. That sounds like the spirit is going to throw the match, let Kagami win just because it might be _entertaining_.

As if to prove it, the spirit leans in, and he smells of ashes and herbs. “You may call me Tobirama,” he says, right against Kagami's ear, and Kagami breathes out, slow and shaky.

If he has a name, he can bind the spirit. If he has the will, he can win their match and save the country from one more hardship.

Kagami suspects that his motivations aren’t entirely that altruistic, though.

“Kagami,” he returns, and draws his sword, summoning up a spark that will slide into a binding at a moment’s notice. “Are you ready, Tobirama?”

Unholy amusement dances over the spirit’s expression, settles into dark intent, and his power flares. “Don’t bore me,” he warns, and Kagami lunges, the edge of his blade leading.

He wins, but just barely.


End file.
